The Admirable Lady Biddy Fane Part 15

"I have come," says he, "to know if I can add anything to your convenience or comfort here during the stay which, as I pointed out yesterday, circ.u.mstances have necessitated."

"You can make my captivity less intolerable," replies Lady Biddy, "by letting me know at once when it is to end."

"If this breeze continues we may fairly expect to be at our journey's end in four days," says he.

"And what do you intend to do with me then?" asks Lady Biddy.

"Rather let me ask you, madam," says he, with a hideous smile, "what you intend to do with me?"

"I do not understand what you mean by that," replies Lady Biddy.

"It is for you to command," says he, "and for me to obey in anything that is possible."

"If I demand my freedom--liberty to return to my friends!" says she, perplexed by his sophistry, for she knew full well that this seeming compliance was but a mask and a snare.

"Certainly," says he, still with that hideous smile, "nothing can be more reasonable; and if it will give you happiness and promote that better opinion of me, which I hope one day you will entertain, I shall do my utmost to help you to find your friends."

Lady Biddy knew not what response to make to this fine speech, his promises being far too good to accept for his true intent; so she waited, looking at him to continue, but with much disgust and loathing, for there was l.u.s.t in his face and devilish wickedness in his eyes, as leaning back on the sofett he surveyed her person from head to foot, and again brought his gaze slowly up to her face.

"Pardon me," says he, "your beauty distracts my thoughts from the subject of our conversation. Where was I? Ah, yes. Santiago de Leon de Caracas, whither we are now sailing, is an agreeable place. I have friends there. You must know that I am a Spanish gentleman by birth.

There is a palace on the side of a hill facing the sea which I think will prove to your taste. You who have lived always in England can have no idea of the beauty of the country. I am sure you will be enchanted with it."

"What is this country or its palaces to me?" cries Lady Biddy, beginning to see his drift.

"You must have a roof to shelter you, and I could offer nothing less than a palace."

"I ask but my liberty that I may return to my friends in England."

"As you please," says he, airily. "I think you will change your mind when you see what a lovely place I propose for your home. However, if, after seeing it, you are still minded to return to England, to England you shall return. It will not be far out of that course to run round by the mouth of the Oronoque and take up poor Sir Harry Smidmore, if he be still on the island where the mutineers left him. Nor is there any reason why you should not cruise about in search of your uncle, Sir Bartlemy Pengilly. Thus would your pleasure in going home be unmarred by any anxiety on account of absent friends."

Once more did he pause to gloat on the perplexity and trouble in that dear face, which I warrant was become deadly pale with dreadful apprehension. His delight in her torture was like nothing but the pleasure of some cat that plays with a poor mouse before tearing it with cruel talons. Nay, I have observed that some men of the baser sort do strangely mingle cruelty with that sort of love they cherish, so that you will see such fellows take pleasure in making women weep.

"For my own part," continues this Rodrigues, with cool audacity, "it is no matter whether I live in the Indies or in Cornwall, so that I be in your company."

Thus did this wicked cynic so reveal his intent that Lady Biddy could no longer doubt what was behind. Yet did she strive to control her indignation, with the faint hope that she misjudged his meaning.

"I do not ask you to go to England," says she. "All I beg is that you set me ash.o.r.e, and let me make my way home as G.o.d shall please to guide me."

"That is impossible, and I should be unworthy of your respect if I consented to such a course. Beauty such as yours is too rare at Santiago to be set light store by. Believe me, you would never be suffered to leave that city if once you set foot in it. You would become the slave and property of the first who could lay his hand on you. I myself should not dare to take you on sh.o.r.e till a priest had given me a legal right to possess you."

"What!" cries she, losing control of her temper; "do you think I will ever consent to become your wife?"

"Yes," he replies, "I think you will when you consider the matter calmly."

And with that he rose, as if to give her opportunity for reflection. But now, her spirit terribly moved with righteous anger, she stopped him.

"Villain," says she, "do you refuse to give me my liberty?"

"If you mean do I refuse to abandon you to such a fate as would be yours in being set alone on sh.o.r.e at Caracas, I reply yes," says he, with less hypocrisy and plainer than he had yet spoken. "If you refuse to be the wife of a Spanish gentleman you shall certainly not become the slave of a mongrel peasant."

"You intend to keep me an unwilling prisoner on board this s.h.i.+p?"

"I do," says he, "in the hope--nay, in the firm belief--that you will willingly agree to be my wife by the time we reach England."

"In England there are gallows for such rascal pirates as you."

"No," says he, catching hold of her arm ere she could escape his touch, and holding her firmly--"not when they have friends to protect them, and have the wit to close the mouths of enemies. No one will bring disgrace on Lady Biddy by hanging her husband and the father of her children. For my sake, to save me from the gallows, you will consent to become my wife. If that be not sufficient reason, then you will marry me for your own sake. The wife of Don Sanchez Rodrigues de Arevalo may hold up her head in the King's court; but the mistress of Rodrigues, the pirate, flung ash.o.r.e at Plymouth, dare not crawl to show her face at Falmouth.

You will see," adds he, freeing her arm, and with a return to his former hypocritical fair seeming--"you will see that what I propose is entirely to your advantage, and inevitable as the setting of the sun."

Thereupon he makes her another low obeisance, turns on his heel, and struts out of the cabin.

All these particulars did Lady Biddy lay before me when she had bolted the door after Rodrigues' departure and come into the next chamber, which she could well do at that time without arousing suspicion. Many times she paused and could not speak for indignation and offended pride; nay, I think she would have kept this matter to herself, but that I pressed her to tell all for my better guidance. Tears she had not one, for pa.s.sion held them back.

"Does he think," says she, with scorn that scarce permitted her to bate her voice--"does he think that ever I will live to be his slave? I could cut this arm off because his foul hand has touched it. I will die a thousand deaths rather than submit to such injury. Promise me, Benet, that if you hear me cry for help--"

"Fear not," says I, interrupting her. "My knife was drawn, and I stood ready by the little door all the time I heard the muttering of his voice in there. So will I stand prepared when next he comes, and be a.s.sured I will have his life if you cry to me."

"Nay," says she; "take my life first and his after, for I would not outlive my shame."

I tried to sooth her mind, which was overmuch exalted, and bade her not think of death while any hope remained, but rather trust to my ability to effect our escape when we came to that port he had spoken of.

"And now," says I, "do pray go back, and seem to make light of this matter; for I fear that if he be undeceived in his hopes he may bring the business to an extremity before we get near land. Remember, my lady, 'tis not your own honor alone you have to consider, though that be paramount to all, but the peace of Sir Bartlemy and," adds I, with an effort, "your poor lover, Sir Harry. Wherefore, for their sakes, must we fight this villain with his own weapons--meeting subtlety with subtlety; and for some little while, if you may subdue your proud spirit, it will be well to let him opine you will in time come round to his way of thinking."

"I understand you, Benet," says she calmly. "You fear if he thinks my resolution invincible he may"--she paused, covering her face with her hands, and added, leaving a blank where she could not utter her thought--"before we reach Caracas."

"Yes, that is what I do fear," says I.

"I will do my best, Benet," says she, "to follow your guidance, which I see is wise and good. Yet, if I fail--if--if--"

"Nay, I know what you would say; and here," says I, dropping on my knees beside her--"here I swear that at your cry for help I will slay both him and you."

"And with equal sincerity, Benet, I promise you I will not give that signal for my death until it is needed."

There was no need to explain these words more fully. We both understood that her dishonor was alone to call for this sole remedy. And, still on my knees, I vowed that I also would not live to bear the memory of her fate.

CHAPTER XXII.

I RECKON TO HAVE MADE ONE ENEMY THE LESS, BUT DO FIND MYSELF MISTAKEN GRIEVOUSLY.

Lady Biddy returned to the other cabin, and there sat where she might be seen from the deck, the while she pretended to be vastly interested in her book, in order to beguile Rodrigues in his fool's hope; for surely to see her thus unconcerned must have led him to believe her pa.s.sion of no great depth or sincerity.

Meanwhile, in the adjoining cabin, I revolved a thousand schemes in my head concerning our condition, which so engrossed my thoughts as all recollection of the trap-door found no place there.

But in the evening, when Lady Biddy came in with a portion of the victuals which had been laid out for her supper by the little blackguard boy, and I asked her if she had seen aught of Rodrigues, she replied that out of the corner of her eye she had perceived him once watching her.